Jack’s smile shifts into a smirk at my silent admission. “Though I have to admit, a lot of my time was spent learning how to be a baker’s assistant.”
My expression flattens. “Do you really think that after four days of answering the phone and ringing up customers you have the skills to call yourself a baker’s assistant?”
He chuckles. “No, not really.” His eyebrows raise. “How about cashier boy?”
I bite my tongue, stopping whatever comment I was about to make that would insinuate there was nothingboyabout him. And all pervy thoughts aside, it’s true that even when customers had to wait longer than normal for service, they always left smiling—thanks in large part to Jack’s people skills.
Avoiding his eyes, I manage, “Yes, you can definitely add that to your list of skills.” Feeling grateful for all his hard work, I add, “I’d even tack on people pleaser.”
Something shifts behind his eyes that makes him seem pleased, but it’s gone in a second. “Nowthat’sgenerous praise.”
I shrug, playing it off. “It’s the holidays.”
“Well, for someone ready to go twelve rounds over the sanctity of Hideaway’s Christmas lights, I was surprised to discover you don’t attend many of the town’s holiday festivities—and that you’re living in an apartment without so much as a strand of tinsel.”
Having forgotten he was in my apartment yesterday, I suddenly find the condensation trailing down my glass extremely interesting.
He leans forward, brows pinched. “Now how does that end up happening?”
I grab my water, the cold glass feeling arctic in my hot hand. “I’m focusing all my attention on the shop.”
“Uh-huh.” His tone makes it clear he’s not buying it.
But thankfully, as he watches me chug down my tall glass in an attempt to cool down, he must decide to pivot instead of press the matter. “Well, you’ll be pleased to know what I learned when I looked into the company that sent the cease-and-desist. They are set up in Bangor, which may have a larger client base being in the city, but it turns out they only filed their state registration three months ago.” He wipes his thumb along his lip, erasing the distracting smear of butter.
Annoyed at the diversion, I blink a few times to refocus. “Which means…?”
Jack’s grin widens. “Which means thatyouhave senior common law rights in Maine for the business name Making Whoopie.” He shrugs as if he didn’t just pop the balloon of anxiety swelling in my gut since I received that letter. “They probably just hoped you didn’t know that. Or that you didn’t have an awesome lawyer to tell you.”
The look he gives me feels equal parts smug andintimate, the kind of heat that almost pulls my focus from what’s important.
“Wait.” I replay what he said and not what he looked like saying it. “So my business isnotdoomed?”
Our waitress chooses that moment to set down two steaming bowls, and the scent of sweet corn and cream is almost as soothing as what IthinkJack just told me.
“Not if we move fast.” He scoops a spoonful of chowder, blowing across the surface, his pursed lips pulling my thoughts into dangerous territory. “I’ve already sent a response asserting your prior use. Then I compiled and background checked a list of nearby Maine lawyers who can step in if they try and take things further, as well as looked into the steps to apply for a federal trademark if needed.”
I pause in picking up my spoon. “You did all that since Wednesday?”
He hums happily over his first taste of Hideaway’s finest comfort food before answering. “I was also fielding calls to Los Angeles, negotiating an endorsement contract for Felix, and looking into this state’s filmmaking laws for Amanda.”
“Wow.” I stare into my chowder because apparently the hard-working, case-juggling lawyer side of Jack is…kind of impressive.
It’s not like I thought he didn’t know what he was doing. I wouldn’t have hired him if I didn’t think he could do it, no matter how convenient his timing was in my moment of legal need. But the fact that he could juggle all of that without looking flustered, swamped, or even remotely out of his depth?
Must be nice.
Taking my stunned silence for gratitude, Jack’s gaze shifts past me to a passing dessert tray, then slides back with a glint I don’t trust. “You can thank me with dessert.”
The warmth from the chowder fades under the weight of his look. I focus on my bowl, chasing a kernel of corn with my spoon. “What, my lifetime supply of whoopie pies isn’t enough to appease you?”
One brow lifts. “I didn’t know I was included in that offer.” A beat passes before his smile curves up nice and slow. “Dangerous thing to offer up your whoopie to a man with a sweet tooth.”
Jack
She bought me dessert.
It’s chocolate and dark and decadent but in no way comparable to Audrey’s whoopie pies.
